Thursday, 18 September 2008

Sometimes everything is wrong

For nearly a month I've been drafting a blog post in my head. It would have been a wonderful blog post. It would have been the announcement that I was at last pregnant. That finally, Sean and I had made it.

It would have told the story of an ordeal that some of you are aware that we have been going through for a long, long time. I was going to talk about the magic that happens the day you get the news, the day the IVF clinic calls you at home to tell you that the waiting is over, the blood test has shown what you didn't dare believe might be possible.

Instead I'm writing a different post to express how devastated we are that the little tiny being we saw on the screen this week did not have a heartbeat. The little white flicker we were so excited to see wasn't there.

The baby was. But the life wasn't.

We're two days into this recurrent nightmare. I say recurrent because a year ago this week, we lived through the same scenario, only we were more innocent then. We had no expectation that this would happen the first time we were lucky enough to succeed in an IVF attempt. We showed up at the early scan that IVF patients are granted, excited at the prospect, and left in a shattered state.

Things were good this time. They were different. I had strong, clear symptoms. I had good blood test results. My body was changing. It was a miracle. It was very different to my pregnancy last year.

A year on, I have been approaching that anniversary with relief. After what's been a very, very dark year of continued failed attempts and a depression like none I've ever known, I was not going to have to suffer the torture of living through that anniversary with a still empty womb. Unlike the due date when our baby should have been born earlier this year, I was going to be happy.

Now, I won't be. I can't. Neither of us can.

Instead, on the anniversary of that loss, I'm going to be most likely in hospital having a curette.

And starting over.

Strangely, I'm ok. Well, not really. By ok I mean I'm not comatose on the floor. I'm at work. I have a good team who have been so very sweet to me. I have my beloved sister looking out for me on the phone every day and a husband who is as shattered as I am, but taking care of and loving me.

And I have spent a little time with some friends who made me laugh. I keep hearing the great Michael Stipe's beautiful lyric floating through my head

Everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends.

And that's exactly what I'll do. For my friends who have small babies or are having them soon, please know that I still love you and your babies. I'm just a bit scared of how I might be around you and yours for a while.

At the end of next week, Sean and I are going away for a few days. It was to be a celebratory mini-holiday. Now it'll be a recovery time because we just can't believe we're here all over again.

And trust me, this post doesn't come close to even touching the depth of my, or indeed, our sadness. If you've suffered through this hell, too, you'll know that.